


When All is Said and Done

by xxx_cat_xxx



Series: Whumping Tony Stark [24]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Feels, Bruce Banner Feels, Established Relationship, Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Science Boyfriends, Science Bros, Sick Tony, Sick Tony Stark, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 15:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20781203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxx_cat_xxx/pseuds/xxx_cat_xxx
Summary: “How bad is it?” Bruce asks the moment the front door shuts behind the last of their guests.“Huh?” Tony is leaning casually against the wall, trying not to squint too hard against the bright entry lights.“The headache you think you’ve been hiding so well from everyone tonight. How bad is it?”-or-Tony deals with a migraine and fear of abandonment. Bruce stays.





	When All is Said and Done

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wanted to save the 'Migraine' square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo card till the very end, but of course I couldn't constrain myself that long. So have my 4.5th Tony vs. Migraine fic, this time with major Science Bros feels.
> 
> Thanks to [Whumphoarder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseudswhumphoarder) and [heyjupiter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjupiter/pseuds/heyjupiter) for beta reading ❤

“How bad is it?” Bruce asks the moment the front door shuts behind the last of their guests.

“Huh?” Tony is leaning casually against the wall, trying not to squint too hard against the bright entry lights. He lightly massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

“The headache you think you’ve been hiding so well from everyone tonight. How bad is it?”

Tony lets his hand drop down. “It’s nothing. I’m just peachy, worrywart.”

Bruce snorts. Then he reaches across the entryway and dials the light down a few notches. Tony inwardly sighs from relief. 

“Let’s go to bed early, yeah?” Bruce suggests softly. “I know you’re _just peachy_, but I for one am tired. Clint’s wilderness survival stories almost put me to sleep on the sofa. I’m gonna clean up the kitchen and then turn in. ”

Tony has a bunch of bots and probably the highest paid cleaning staff in the whole of New York to take care of the mess left behind by the ever-hungry Avengers. But he knows Bruce is uncomfortable with anyone working for him, so he doesn’t protest, just follows the other man into the kitchen and tries his best to help with putting away the leftovers. 

However, the aura obscuring his left field of vision and the slightly blurred quality of the world don’t really make things easier. When he drops a knife onto the ground next to the drawer for the second time in a row and barely misses his own toe, Bruce finally intervenes. “Okay, that’s it. Bed, now.”

“I’m good. Stop mother-henning me,” Tony bites back a groan when he bends down to pick up the cutlery and the pressure in his head compounds. He has to stabilise himself against the cupboard and take a deep breath before he can get upright again.

“Tony.” 

That’s the tone that gets him, always. The one that tells him Bruce can see right through his facade and openly wonders why Tony is even still making an effort to keep it up. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he concedes. “But don’t come at me later that I’m not doing my fair share of housework.”

Bruce shuts him up with a warm look. “As if I would ever.” 

Tony lets himself be led into the bedroom and groans when he sinks down into the mattress. He feels actually dizzy now, which only increases the nausea building in his stomach. Bruce helps him change from jeans into sweatpants and removes his dress shirt, then gently pushes him into a horizontal position. 

Lying down doesn’t really do anything for the pain in Tony’s head, but at least he can bury his face in one of the pillows and shut out whatever light is left in the room.

Bruce goes back to finish the cleaning and then disappears into the bathroom for a while before joining Tony in bed. He starts circling his fingers through Tony’s hair, lightly massaging his scalp. Tony remembers how weirdly intimate this felt the first time he did it, when he told Bruce that painkillers don’t work for his migraines and the other man offered to try out a different method. Now it’s become a familiar routine, a thing they’ve done a hundred times over the years.

Tony tries to switch off his brain and concentrate on just lying still and relaxing under Bruce’s touch, but he’s kind of terrible at it. It’s hard, so hard, because even now there’s a million ideas buzzing in his head, a never-ending list of projects and potentially world-improving programmes, intermingled with upgrades for Dum-E and Veronica and his armour and inspirations for what to get Bruce for their anniversary. 

The longer Tony is lying down, the more unsettled he gets. He’s not actually that sick; after all, he’s worked through so much more than a stupid migraine. Annoyance at himself bubbles up in his chest, for being unproductive, for wasting time in bed like this. 

Bruce seems to catch on to this. He turns over and rubs his fingers along the line of Tony’s forehead. “What’s up? I can _feel_ you thinking. It’s like an electric hum.”

“Don’t want to be useless,” Tony scoffs. “I _hate_ being useless.” 

“Tony, you’re never useless to me.”

“Hmpff.”

“Okay, fine. Without your headache we would still be sitting on the porch with the others and I would be pretending to have fun playing stupid card games while secretly just wanting to be alone with my books. So, personally, I am pretty happy about the timing of your migraine.”

“Not convincing,” Tony grumbles, but he has to smile. Then his sluggish brain catches on to the implications. “Wait, you’re saying that’s why everyone left early? So Steve didn’t actually have to repair his washing machine?” 

“I doubt he even knows how to do that,” Bruce admits with a smile.

“And Natasha’s date -”

“Shh,” Bruce shushes him with a finger to his lips. 

“Idiots, all of you,” Tony mumbles, but there’s a sugary warm feeling surging in his chest that makes the insult sound almost endearing.

He drifts a bit after that, the thoughts not gone, but muted. His head is throbbing in time with every heartbeat, like his brain is too big for his skull and trying to come out. He’s far from comfortable, but his situation could definitely be worse than lying in bed and feeling Buce’s big spoon body heat behind him. 

Bruce’s breaths even out after a while and it’s almost peaceful, but then Tony’s stomach decides that digestion is too much to handle for it right now and attempts to creep up his throat. He tries for deep and even breaths, but soon enough every one of them starts to feel like it might bring something else with it. 

“Aw, shit,” he murmurs when he can taste the remnants of pizza at the back of his throat. He pushes himself up and tumbles out of bed. The headrush that hits has him almost stagger into the wall. 

He makes it to the toilet and clumsily lifts the seat up in the dark before coughing miserably into the bowl, but nothing comes up. His throat is tight with nausea as he retches drily. It’s still unproductive, but this doesn’t mean it’s not hurting like a bitch.

Tony can’t stop a quiet whimper from escaping his mouth. _Fucking pathetic_. He gags again emptily and then presses his forehead against the cool toilet seat, hoping someone will come and simply knock him out. 

He absentmindedly and quite self-pityingly wonders what he did to the universe to deserve this, then scolds himself for the thought. Once, around four in the morning after a long night in the workshop, a very sleepy Bruce had told him that growing up with an abusive parent made you feel like you’d eventually have to pay for every good thing that happened to you, that happiness comes with a price tag, until one day you just start trying not to feel too happy at all for fear of punishment. 

Tony, who firmly believes that every problem can be solved if one is just clever enough, was horrified at the idea. Since then, he’s tried his best to convince Bruce that he does, in fact, deserve unconditional love and happiness, that pain is something that happens despite, not because of, feeling good, and has showered him with as much affection as humanly possible. 

Thinking that he deserves this migraine is stupid, Tony knows that. Although it might almost make him feel better if he knew that there was a reason why his brain is currently on the verge of blowing up.

“Oh, Tony...” He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but suddenly Bruce is there, resting a hand on his back, all warmth and reassurance. How does a person do this -become such a source of calmness in all the daily stress and pain? “I’m sorry that you’re feeling so bad.”

“I’m okay,” Tony croaks, “‘s just a stupid migraine, I’ll be fine. I'm always fine.”

“Mm-hmm," Bruce says wryly. “I know that. But I also know it hurts now, even if it'll pass eventually."

“Just go back to sleep. I know you're tired.”

“This is such a nice bathroom, though,” Bruce says with a shrug. “Really, I've spent nights in much worse places.”

“Yeah, but- ugh.” Saliva floods Tony’s mouth and then he has to lean forward and heave the few bites of dinner he'd managed to get down earlier back into the toilet bowl, every retch making his head throb viciously. Bruce’s hand is calmly rubbing up and down his back and Tony tries to concentrate on that instead of the disgusting taste in his mouth and the smell that makes him want to throw up again.

Bruce has to help him back to bed eventually because his sense of balance is shot, as is his sense of distances and his sense of, well, anything. Tony hates this most about migraines, the slightly surreal feeling as if the world is constantly slipping from his grip and he’s missing all the important details. It’s even worse than the pain and nausea, because the lack of brainpower makes him feel vulnerable, and, worse, unable to protect those he cares about. Although Bruce arguably isn’t exactly in need of protection, at least not of the physical kind. 

“Brucie?” he mumbles through the pillow and the peppermint drop in his mouth that’s supposed to ease the nausea. 

“Hmm?”

“Do you think the Hulk likes it here?”

“Considering that you built him his own playground to smash, I think he’s pretty content to live in the tower.” Tony can practically hear the frown in Bruce’s tone, but his voice stays soft as he replies. “Why do you ask?”

“Just like this?” 

Bruce hums knowingly and pulls Tony closer towards him.

Once, when Tony was sick with the flu and the fever dreams were messing with him so badly that he couldn’t quite differentiate between reality and nightmares anymore, he thought about telling Bruce how growing up with parents that were never really there and then suddenly dead makes you feel like everyone you ever get close to is going to leave eventually, and that maybe letting people close is not worth the pain of losing them. 

In the end, he didn’t say anything. But miraculously, Bruce was still there when Tony’s fever finally broke, as he was after the next bout of flu, Tony’s heart surgery, and dozens of migraines in between. And now, years later, even Tony’s subconsciousness is finally almost convinced that if Tony gives in to sleep now, Bruce will still be there when he wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is ABBA because somehow that's what Science Bros calls for, don't ask me why. 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://xxx-cat-xxx.tumblr.com). Comments are always appreciated :)


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